Permanent Ink

By Laura Simcox

Blair Whitaker has one goal: get the hell out of Celebration, NY. Her ticket out is helping the town take the grand prize in a parade contest, which will ensure she lands her dream job. It's a win-win.

Standing in the way is Ben Lambert, a sexy, local tattoo artist whose smile makes her weak. To win the contest, she'll have to sideline his plans for the tattoo festival the town council allowed on the same weekend. But trying to thwart Ben is more than she bargained for, and before she knows it, she's starting to see Celebration–and Ben–as something more than a temporary distraction.

But Blair's in too deep to change directions now. Celebration is behind the parade contest, the mayor revokes the tattoo festival permit, and Blair is on the cusp of getting everything she'd planned. But coming clean will turn Ben against her for good, and going forward means losing what she really wants and hurting the town she's grown to love.

Each book in the Something to Celebrate series is a standalone, full-length story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Series Order:
Book #1 Ivy Entwined
Book #2 Permanent Ink

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Aug 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781633750531

Laura Simcox

After spending years in professional theater as a costume designer, Laura Simcox eased out of the hectic whirlwind of opening nights and settled in a comfy desk chair to write romance. She believes that life is too short not to appreciate heartwarming, quirky humor, and her novels are lighthearted journeys into the happily-ever-after. She lives in North Carolina with her true love and adorable little son.

Book preview

Halfway through writing Permanent Ink, I fell down in a grocery store parking lot and broke my foot. My typing fingers weren’t affected, but I found out very quickly how time-sucking it is to take care of a four-year-old when you’re on crutches. My husband, family, and friends helped me without complaint for weeks, and as a result, I had the time to finish this book.

I dedicate it to all of you and promise to walk carefully in the future.

Thank you!

Chapter One

Something told Blair Whitaker that a fresh start shouldn’t smell like diesel fuel and jelly beans, but she chose to ignore the warning bells in her head and focused instead on staying alive. Adjusting the heavy rhinestone crown on her head, she held on to the sides of her folding chair for dear life as the parade float jerked into motion.

You okay up there?

Blair glanced over her shoulder and down at the skinny, skater-punk kid who was ogling her from the safety of the ground. Yes, she managed, and tugged on the Finger Lakes Easter Queen sash that fit snugly over her breasts. The real queen had a lot of explaining to do and as soon as Blair could get off this float she would wring the girl’s neck. The satin sash popped back up over a breast for what had to be the tenth time, and Blair gave up her tugging and left it there.

Blair looked down at the ragged box with the words Mighty Fine Toilet Paper printed on the sides and filled with bags of assorted candy. Okay. So she was supposed to throw mini-Snickers at kids? What if she hit them in the face or something?

Um…? She glanced to either side of the float and caught the eye of a middle-aged woman, who began jogging down the sidewalk.

"Throw it underhanded, honey. And thank you so much. Don’t forget to wave! Turn your head slowly so you don’t get dizzy! We don’t want a queen with vertigo!"

Blair gave her a thumbs-up, but couldn’t help a rueful grin. She was a queen—the queen of bad luck, and it had nagged her for too long. It was time to kick her own ass into gear and ignore luck altogether. And she was going to start by figuring out her life, right here in Celebration, by moving in with relatives. Sigh.

For now, though, she was stuck, because her lease had run out on her teensy Manhattan apartment, and she hadn’t signed a new one. Instead, she’d sold all of her furniture and left the place like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Except Blair hadn’t stolen anything but a burgeoning sense that she’d made a huge effing mistake. It wasn’t like her to make such rash decisions. What did she think she was going to do here, anyway? Besides masquerading as a pageant queen, that is?

But once she figured it out?

She was leaving this Podunk place.

For God’s sake, she hadn’t even made it to Celebration’s city-limits sign when everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Or an Easter basket, as the case may be. Thanks to a tangled road block of parade floats, she’d been forced to pull over and had barely walked a few yards away from her van when a pop-eyed guy in a matted bunny suit, sans head, had approached with a gaggle of women in mom jeans and told her she was a dead ringer for the Finger Lakes Easter queen, who had suddenly taken ill and was resting in the bed of a pickup truck. Would Blair stand in for her?

All weirdness aside, and that had certainly qualified as weird, Blair saw the request as a sign from the universe. Especially when she’d peered into the truck and been totally shocked. Kaley, Blair’s little cousin (who at sixteen, definitely didn’t look like a little kid anymore) lay giggling, her crown askew. What else could Blair do except untangle the crown from Kaley’s curls and cram it on her own head? She always came through in a pinch. Reliable Blair.

As the driver swerved around a pothole, she sucked in a breath. Jesus, she muttered.

Maybe the parade route would be mercifully short—from what Aunt Lola had said, Celebration was a tiny town. Blair hoped so, because she was already starting to feel kind of dizzy. Holding tight to the chair, she waved to the sparse crowd on either side of Main Street. They waved back, but several of them looked confused.

And no wonder. She didn’t feel like a beauty queen any more than she looked like one. She was organized, dependable, and kept an obsessive to-do list. What kind of flighty pageant princess did that? Blair smiled at them anyway, despite the fact that it was obvious she was a decade too old to be a high school beauty queen, was wearing jeans and clogs instead of a slinky prom dress, and had her purse looped around one ankle so that it didn’t slide off the float. She made a very strange beauty queen indeed. But she held her head up high and continued to wave, until a big gust of chilly wind made her teeth ache and her eyes water.

Okay, this was officially stupid.

She heard resounding cheers as the small processions of floats slowed to turn the corner. Suddenly, the sidewalks seemed a lot more crowded. Little kids held Easter baskets and most everyone was bundled against the sharp wind. The three floats in front of hers had already begun to roll down a side street, and at the head of the procession in a shiny white convertible, a young blond woman stood and waved. The crowd cheered even louder.

Blair pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and leaned forward to read the sign on the side of the convertible—Ivy Callahan, Mayor of Celebration.

Really? Blair murmured to herself. The woman was probably around Blair’s age. That’s…wow. Good for her. Bet she didn’t live out of a rental van.

The wind whipped up again and the crown tilted sideways. She reached up to adjust it and scanned the sides of the road for her aunt’s familiar fire-engine-red head. Lola had gone gray before Blair was born, but she relied on L’Oreal to keep her signature color, which Blair had inherited and most of the time, loved. Except for the times that people assumed she was a firebrand because of her wild red hair. And when they found out that she wasn’t the human version of the girl from Brave, they seemed strangely disappointed.

Blair had gotten to the point where she didn’t care. Like now. Throwing a hand into the air, she waved enthusiastically at the kids on the side of the road.

Happy Easter, kids!

Most of them giggled, but a little girl wearing a shiny purple ski coat stared at her in dismay. She blinked a couple of times and then gazed pitifully up at her mom, who in turn gave Blair a stony look. The mom cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled.

Where’s your pageant gown? My daughter came to see the gown!

Blair shrugged and managed an apologetic grimace. The woman didn’t buy it.

Oh. Blair was supposed to have thrown candy, wasn’t she? Okay. She reached into the toilet-paper box, ripped open a bag, and gently tossed a handful of jawbreakers toward the sidewalk.

The woman shook her head in disgust. "What kind of queen doesn’t wear her gown? You’re disrespecting the parade, Miss Finger Lakes. What did the Easter parade ever do to you?"

Huh?

Blair answered the only way she could—with a brilliant smile and a wave, and within a minute, the float had rolled past the still-grumbling woman.

Jesus. Was this town crazy or what? Maybe it was a fluke occurrence or…maybe not.

Because as the float proceeded past a park and then turned left back up the other side, Blair gaped at the buildings on her right. The steps of the city hall were crammed full of Easter baskets and looked like a cascading river of pastel. Pastel streamers were everywhere, and the businesses lining the street? A doughnut shop with a big fat pig on the sign. A pet-grooming studio…cats preferred? Still waving and throwing candy, she looked farther down the street at a collection of huge nutcrackers sitting in front of a store called Christmas Crazies. And next to it stood a shop that looked to be a day spa, since the name was Skinnovations, but there was a scary-looking skull and crossbones etched onto the front window. Um…okay? What the hell kind of town was this and why had elegant, cultured Aunt Lola chosen to move here?

Up ahead and to her left, a frumpy woman stepped out of a group of people gathered at the edge of the park. Blair stared at her for a few seconds, frowning, and then recognition struck.

Oh. Oh, wow. Lola. Wearing…a sweatshirt and jeans? She’d put a good twenty pounds onto her thin frame and her red hair was pretty much gone, cut into a pixie style, which Blair had to admit looked cute. But still. Had Lola gone crazy up here in Celebration?

Their eyes met, and Lola froze. Her mouth moved and although Blair couldn’t hear her, she knew what Lola had said. Good heavens.

Blair stared back, trying to smile. I can explain, she shouted. Kaley’s fine, though. Lola nodded back, a strange smile on her face. Meet me at my house after the parade, she called out as the float rolled past.

I’ll find it! Blair gave her one last wave and turned around as the float passed a gleaming white gazebo decked out in strings of Easter-egg lights. The pop-eyed bunny from thirty minutes ago stood under the bright red-shingled roof, this time with his furry head on. He shot Blair the peace sign. She shot it back. Why not? The bunny gave a shimmy. Blair smiled and did an awkward little dance in her chair. The crowd seemed to like it, so Blair added some disco arms and was rewarded with a burst of laughter. This wasn’t so bad. It was kind of fun, actually…until there was a collective intake of breath from the crowd up ahead.

Hit the decks! screeched a woman. The people around her froze, staring up at the sky. Two second later, they ducked, covering their heads.

That’s when a giant papier-mâché Easter chick broke loose from a wire above the street and bounced off the 4-H float in front of Blair and then landed on the pageant float, rolling at breakneck speed toward where she sat.

Jesus H! she shrieked, trying to get behind her chair. She didn’t make it. The chick smacked squarely into her chest, knocked her on her ass, and lodged between her thighs. Blair felt one of her clogs fly off and she lifted her head away from a face full of spray-painted paper to watch as the shoe landed in the street. It rolled over a few times and was promptly run over by the wheel of a fire truck.

What the hell just happened? Blair blinked, light-headed from the fumes of spray paint emanating in waves from the giant, dented chick between her legs. She shoved the yellow thing out of the way and it bounced into the street with a loud crack, its head flopping to the side. The pageant float jerked to a stop and a collective gasp went up from the people on the sidewalks.

You killed the Easter chick! wailed a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four. She began to cry.

Oh, no. Not that. She’d made a kid cry?

I’m sorry, she said. I…just a second.

Blair reached into her hair where the crown was hanging from a long strand. She untangled it and crawled to the edge of the float. She stood, lopsided without her shoe.

The street looked really far away. Good karma, good karma, good karma, Blair chanted in a whisper. "Everything will turn around soon. It has to, after today."

But when she glanced at the crowd, it didn’t seem like anything was going to turn around soon. It actually seemed like there was going to be a witch hunt—and she was the one about to get burned at the stake.

It was an accident, she said numbly. I’m sure the chick can be fixed, right?

The answering angry mutters wiped the hopeful smile from her face and she sat down, dangling her feet over the edge. Okay then. Time to get the hell out of here.

A middle-aged man, short and tubby, with two cameras looped over his neck, stepped forward. What did you say, miss?

Just talking to myself. Figuring out if I feel like jumping or not, Blair answered.

The man adjusted his cameras and stood directly under her. I’ll help. He strained his arms upward, his fingers spread. Come on, then, he said.

She smiled gratefully at him. Just a sec. This is going to be a little tricky with only one shoe.

Take your time. He withdrew his hands.

She surveyed the ground one more time, slipped her purse strap over her queen’s sash, and blew out a breath. Okay, here goes.

Closing her eyes, she reached for the man’s hands. They were surprisingly warm and strong and didn’t feel at all like…she cracked open an eye and stared at the hands. They weren’t pudgy. Or small. They weren’t even his. What the—

A deep chuckle sounded and Blair found herself staring down at a completely different man altogether. This man stared right back, his firm-looking lips curving into a half smile. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t seem to blink.

His eyes. She was transfixed. They were a deep, soulful brown and ringed by lashes any woman would be jealous to have. When his smile widened, those eyes crinkled at the corners. Oh. Blair found herself smiling back.

Um… she said. No other words would come out of her mouth because he was that gorgeous. But dangerous-looking, really. Shoulder-length hair. His beard? Like a sexy pirate. And his thermal shirt? Plastered to that hard wall of a chest. Her heart sped up, and she broke eye contact, only to glance back, still speechless.

Guys like him didn’t stare at her. But this one did. He still was.

His smile turned into a grin, and he released one of her hands. Reaching for the back pocket of some incredible-fitting jeans, he pulled out her shoe. And yeah, it was mangled, but right now she didn’t really care. May I? he asked, gesturing toward her socked foot.

Um… she repeated. Yeah, sure. She watched in fascination as he clasped her ankle and gently pushed the scuffed, stained clog onto her foot.

There, he said in a voice as deep as his chuckle.

And right then, the little pudgy man stepped forward and snapped a photo.

Got it! he crowed. Cinderella and her prince. The best front-page parade picture ever. He did a little jig. "And that’s why the Celebration Crier pays me the big bucks."

As the gathered crowd let out a begrudging laugh, Blair turned her attention back to Sexy Pirate, who still held onto her foot. She willed her voice not to be breathy. A little help?

He reached up and placed his hands around her waist. My pleasure, princess.

I’m an Easter queen, she responded dumbly, leaning forward to place her hands on his shoulders, her heart racing.

You’re something, all right, he murmured near her ear. And then he lifted her against his chest and set her on the ground, pulling away slowly until his hands fell to his sides.

I think you have some sucking up to do, he said.

Um…

He reached onto the float, grabbed several bags of candy out of the cardboard box and handed her half of it. Start giving it to the kids. I’ll help.

Nodding, Blair followed his lead. Actually—she followed him as if he were a bodyguard. Which he could be. He was so tall and broad-shouldered and a lot bit intimidating-looking. Surprisingly, though, the kids didn’t seem scared of him, especially when he stopped walking to chat as he handed over wads of fun-sized candy bars.

She was dimly aware that she was standing a little bit too close to him, and when their hips bumped as he reached to hand out candy, he turned with a smile.

Nice parade, huh?

She raised her eyebrows and glanced back at the small collection of stalled floats. If you say so. I didn’t mean to ruin it.

You didn’t. You just gave people an excuse to gossip. He stuffed his hand into a bag of Three Musketeers and plopped the candy into several kids’ raised baskets.

Gossip? Nobody even knows who I am.

That’s the point, Miss Finger Lakes, he responded with a chuckle. So… He looked as if he was going to ask something else, but grinned instead. So you’re new in town.

Yeah, but not really. She was here for a few weeks…less, if she could get her life together sooner. Less would probably be good, especially after the entrance she’d made.

I…

You here to take the town-planner job?

I… she repeated, and then frowned. What?

Guess not. He shrugged. Not many younger people end up in Celebration unless they are here for a job.

She’d kill for a job, but not here.

Now old people, he went on in a chatty tone, that’s a different story. They’re flooding the place. New senior center on the edge of town. He gestured down the street with a large hand.

Oh. That’s nice. She stretched across an uneven patch of sidewalk to hand out more candy, and she bumped into him again. Sorry.

I’m not. He smiled at her again—a slow smile that made her breath stop.

Jerking her gaze away, she glanced around the street. The parade was held up, and the crowd was getting restless. Down the block, the wire stretched in the air above the street dipped in the middle and a mangled ribbon with a few feathers flapped in the breeze.

Well… she said slowly, I guess we should hurry up with the candy so the parade can get back on track. Not sure I should linger too long—I am the Easter-chick killer, after all.

He laughed. Okay.

Oh, that laugh. And his voice—deep. She stood there trying not to look at him, but damn—she’d just been through the strangest episode, and her ability to play it cool was seriously malfunctioning. It was as if she was dreaming, and knew it, but couldn’t force herself awake.

After a moment, he turned with a smile and gave her a questioning look—a why-are-you-staring-at-me kind of look—and she gave herself a mental shake. Candy. Kids. Give. With another nod and an unfortunately panicked-sounding giggle, Blair looked around and spotted the little girl who’d been crying. Quickly, she walked toward her, bent down, and stuffed a handful of chocolate coins into the child’s Easter basket.

Are you Ariel or Merida? asked the girl.

Ariel or…oh. Disney princesses. Red hair.

Neither one. I’m just me. Blair winked at her.

Where did you get your crown, then?

It probably came out of a catalog and cost about fifteen dollars.

No. Don’t say that.

Blair squatted next to her. It’s pretty, huh? Do you want to try it on?

The girl nodded, and Blair unwound it from her hair. She placed it gently on the little girl’s thin blond curls. There you go. You look beautiful.

An "aww" sounded from the people around them. Blair smiled.

Wear it for a few minutes and then someone else gets a turn, okay?

At that, several little girls crowded around. Blair smiled at them, too, and filled their baskets with candy. After helping each of them with the crown and posing for a bunch of cell-phone photos, she finally stood up and scanned the street for her tattooed rescuer.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Two

With a low whistle, Ben Lambert turned around on the sidewalk and went back inside his studio, passing the long counter and the single tattoo station before walking into the cluttered office. He eased into his desk chair and drummed his fingers on his knees.

Holy shit, he uttered.

The mystery Miss Finger Lakes was beautiful. Up close and far away. Even though she’d taken off the sash and the crown, when he’d spied her across the town commons, she’d been elegant and graceful, her long red hair blowing in the breeze. She did resemble a princess. A princess who was hoofing it back up Main Street, but still.

He should have run across the commons and offered her a ride back to where the parade participants had parked on the edge of town, but…yeah. Maybe she’d parked right around the corner.

She was probably taken, right? Or really high maintenance; most beautiful women were. Plus she was just here visiting Lola Whitaker—her aunt. That’s what the folks gossiping had said as he’d cleaned up the confetti with them outside his studio on Enterprise Street. And though he’d pried casually, that was all they knew. They didn’t even know her name. Why the hell hadn’t he asked her name when he’d had the chance?

No, it was for the best that he hadn’t. He groaned, wishing that he hadn’t seen her up close. Or rescued her shoe, or touched her soft curves. Because there was no guarantee that she’d stay in town, and he didn’t have time to be distracted by her.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He had nothing but time. And it had been that way for months.

A year and a half ago, right before Christmas, he’d been working in a tattoo studio in Syracuse and doing a brisk business. But he’d been itchy—ready to go it alone, if the right opportunity popped up. And it had. He’d spied an ad in the paper for a free commercial rent deal in a small upstate town struggling to turn its downtown around. That town was Celebration, and he’d taken the deal and never looked back. But traffic into his studio had been slow at best, and the rent deal? That had expired six months ago.

After raking a hand through his hair, he flipped open the appointment book on the desk. None today, closed tomorrow on Sunday, two appointments on Monday, and then empty squares as far as the eye could see. He stared at the blank calendar, familiar anxiety flipping over in his stomach. Ben was getting really sick of that anxiety, because he prided himself on being a laid-back kind of guy. He hated drama, but what was worse—he hated that he’d managed to ignore reality for so long. What had he been thinking? That he’d open his own shop and clients would come flooding in just because he existed? He should have known better.

Meeting Lola Whitaker’s niece today had jolted his senses into overdrive, and he’d been a bundle of nervous energy since the minute she’d slid into his arms. It wasn’t like him to be so keyed up, but in a way, she’d done him a favor. She’d woken him up and made him think. It’s what he was thinking that made him even more nervous.

For three months, Ben had been evading his mentor, Grizz Carson. The man wanted Ben to take over as sponsor for the Central New York Ink Fest but so far, Ben had said no. He didn’t want to disappoint Grizz, but Ben was very content in his comfort zone—creating art on people’s bodies. Talking with customers, working with them to come up with beautiful, custom designs…that’s all he really wanted to do, but those customers—hell, any customers were few and far between.

Ink Fest would help put him on the map.

It was time to make a decision, damn it. Before he could second-guess himself, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.

Talk to me. Grizz’s raspy voice sounded through the phone.

Hey, man, Ben said, What’s up?

Why do you have time to call me on a Saturday afternoon? Grizz demanded, ignoring the greeting.

Ben laughed, trying to keep the sound relaxed. There was a big parade today, and I was helping clean up. Thought I’d take a break and call you.

Oh yeah? Grizz said.

Ben heard a thump through the phone and smiled, picturing Grizz heaving up on the handle of his old recliner. The man was settling in for a chat. Yeah, Ben continued, so I was thinking that you’re right. Celebration would be a good location for Ink Fest, and I wanted see if the offer is still open for me to take over sponsorship.

Hell yes, it is. The sound of the recliner’s footrest creaking back down reached Ben’s ears. Hang on. Let me get something to drink, Grizz said.

As Ben waited, he splayed a hand across his chest and took a deep breath. Was he really about to do this? Take on a tattoo festival—solo? It was the fastest way to make a name for himself, though, and it wasn’t as if the ads for Skinnovations that he’d taken out in the Celebration Crier had done much good at all. Neither had his homemade website, which had a grand total of two hundred hits.

Grizz cleared his throat. Okay. I’ve been running this thing for thirty years and I have to say, it’s going to be great to have the bitch off my back. He laughed. But don’t worry, I’ll help you the first year. After that, you’re on your own. I’m closing up my studio at the end of the summer, and I’m moving to the Caribbean.

Ben gripped the phone. "You’re what?"

I’m retiring! I don’t see how that’s such a shocker, son. You know the studio could have been yours. I offered you a partnership, but you told me you wanted to go it alone. And after only two years of apprenticeship and three years of working for me, I might remind you.

I still do want to go it alone.

But Ben knew he didn’t want to travel the same path as Grizz—racking up awards, traveling the circuit and becoming a name. All Ben wanted to have a comfortable stream of clients and enough money to live his life. But he couldn’t pull that particular reality out of thin air. He had to make it happen.

Grizz grunted. "Eh, I’m actually glad you turned me down because I felt the same way at your age. The dude who’s helping me now ain’t half the artist you are, but he’s willing to work on weekends. And the older I get, the more I want weekends to

Reviews for Permanent Ink

[books007_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ok, first things first - this book cover did not match the story for me. Maybe it's just me but this cover screams bad boy alert but Ben read as gentle giant, if that makes any sense.Blair can't wait to leave Celebration behind. When she sees her opportunity, she takes it but just when things start to come together, she realizes she may not want to leave. Especially when she finds something special with the town's tattoo artist, Ben. However, once the plan in is motion, it's hard to stop and people get hurt along the way.Ben has the patience of a saint! I did not love, nor hate, Blair but I struggled with the fact that Ben basically forgave her MULTIPLE times before he ever even got her side of the story. It sounds sweet but a little more angst would have gone a long way with this story. It gave it a little less realistic feel.Anyway, good book just not great book. Undecided on if I'd read more by this author.I received this book in exchange for an honest review for Netgalley.